


Cup of Tea, Fallen

by Thia (Jennaria)



Category: Ayatsuri Sakon | Puppet Master Sakon
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-19
Updated: 2008-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1628951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennaria/pseuds/Thia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-canon, and Sakon is trying to behave as befits his station.  Pity that murder doesn't take a hint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cup of Tea, Fallen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [belina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/belina/gifts).



> Thank you for a new fandom! Thank you also to my beta-readers, Sylverice and thesilentpoet, who checked my poisons and egged me on when I said, hey, wouldn't murder in a tea house be cool?

 

 

This is not the first time he's performed like this. It's not even the first time Sakon has performed for this particular client: Matsumoto-san has been a friend of his grandfather's for years. His hands do not shake as he checks Ukon one last time before putting him into his box for travel to the tea house. 

"Be careful," his mother murmurs as he steps into his shoes. 

"I will," he replies, just as softly. Because this isn't the first time he's performed with Ukon at a business party, but it _is_ the first time his performance has been requested as a favor, as a guest. As Sakon Tachibana-san, new head of the family. 

He rests one hand on the top of Ukon's box for a moment, then heads down the street for the bus.

The tea house sits on a small plot of land, near the edge of a neighborhood that chose tradition over modern. Its houses are hidden behind discreet wooden walls, the gates closed: the twilight is already dim enough that a few have even put out lanterns. In comparison, the tea house looks bright and welcoming. Sakon pauses at the bottom of the steps, dips his hands into the water basin, and takes a deep breath as he shakes his hands dry again. He's a little early, but not very. Matsumoto-san is certainly here already.

"Hey, what're you worried about?" Ukon says from the box. "It's not like you're alone or something."

"I know," Sakon murmurs, and taps on the sliding door.

Ochaya-san answers the door, and steps back, bowing Sakon into the room. Sakon thanks her and slings the box down off his shoulders as she vanishes back into the kitchen, giving him the chance to look around, not as a guest but as a performer. It was a three-tatami room, not the two-tatami he feared: he might still be crowded, but not impossibly so. The charcoal pit is already lit, waiting for the kettle of water, and already-bright lanterns hang at intervals. Sakon suspects that the paper hides electric bulbs, not candles, but he isn't that curious, and doesn't have time to investigate.

Sakon sets down the box in the corner. As he kneels to pull out Ukon, he hears voices at last from outside the host's door. "--everything ready?" Matsumoto is saying.

"Of course." A woman's voice, one Sakon doesn't recognize. "Ochaya-san has assured me that the tea will be made as soon as your guests arrive."

"Then she should start," Matsumoto says, as the door slides open. "Here's our first guest." He smiles over at Sakon as he enters the room. The woman behind him, dressed in elaborate kimono, bows to Sakon, then vanishes back outside, sliding the door shut, before Sakon can do more than half-bow in return.

Sakon has no time to inquire about the woman. He must stand up as Matsumoto comes to greet him. "Sakon-san! I am honored by your presence."

"I was honored by the invitation," Sakon says. His fingers twitch with Ukon's urge to say _you've seen us before, old man!_

"And you've brought Ukon!" Matsumoto looks down at the box, and his fingers twitch too. "I had wondered if you would bring one of the other puppets. May I?"

Sakon hesitates, but only for a heartbeat. He doesn't like other people, non-puppeteers, touching Ukon. But this _is_ Matsumoto-san, who's been a family friend for years, so he says, "Of course," in an even voice. Ukon might squawk in protest, but Sakon will not give it voice.

Matsumoto draws Ukon out of the box and sits him on his knee as if Ukon were the child the puppet is made to resemble. He touches Ukon's face gently, turning his head this way and that. Finally he sighs and sets Ukon back down on the floor, allowing Sakon to kneel and take Ukon back, and spreads his hands. "Forgive an old man who wanted to see genius more closely," he says ruefully. "I try to match Ukon's movement and expression with my own humble creations, but a hobbyist such as myself can hardly think to equal Unosuke Koizumi."

Ukon straightens up in Sakon's hands, and laughs, rubbing the back of his head as if embarrassed. "But if you asked Koizumi-san to make a chair, he wouldn't be able to do that as well as you!"

"You're very kind, Ukon-san," Matsumoto murmurs. "I--"

The door slides open again, and he breaks off as his son Haruto bursts in. "Father, Kikuya-san is -- Sakon-san! Welcome!"

"Haruto," Matsumoto says in quiet reproof, and Haruto flushes and bows to Sakon more politely. 

Sakon pretends he didn't notice, and rises to his feet again to bow his thanks, as Ukon says cheerfully, "Hi!"

Haruto grins and ruffles Ukon's hair. "Hey, Ukon."

"Oi, oi --" Ukon flails protestingly. "Show a little respect! I'm not some toy-store edition, you know!" 

"Of course not, Ukon-kun," Haruto says. His grin hasn't faded at all. "Father, Kikuya-san says the tea-water is nearly ready." He kneels slightly behind his father, and Sakon resumes his place with a tight feeling in his middle, as if he were the puppet and his master had only just slid his guiding hand into him. Ukon is heavy and silent on his knee. 

"I apologize for the interruption," Matsumoto says. "I thank you for sparing the time to come to my humble gathering. I know you must be very busy." 

"We would always find time for a request from you, Matsumoto-san." Grandfather would never forgive him if he didn't, even if Sakon had been reckless or stupid enough to dismiss the long history between their families. Matsumoto-san had been a supporter of the Tachibana school since he was hardly more than a boy himself. 

"Thank you very much," Matsumoto says, with a small bow of acknowledgment. "May I ask how your grandfather is doing?" 

"Very well. I'm very grateful for his guidance." Sometimes more than others -- he doesn't just practice with the other apprentices any more, but alone with Grandfather, sometimes with Ukon but just as often not, no matter how much Ukon grumbled about it. Worse are the hours spent poring over accounts. _We are more than our art,_ Grandfather said. Unfortunately he hadn't meant that philosophically. 

"Have you accepted any new apprentices?" Hokuto says. 

From the stern look Matsumoto shoots his son, he wasn't supposed to ask that, not yet. At least this also has a simple answer. "No," Sakon says. "Not until next spring at least. With the death of my uncle, and the loss of Shinozaki-san--" 

"Of course," Matsumoto says quickly. "No one could expect otherwise." 

As if waiting for that cue, the host door and the guest door slides open at almost the same time. Ochaya-san enters with a tea-post, followed by the woman in elaborate old-fashioned kimono, who Sakon recognizes now as Kikuya, Matsumoto's usual hostess. Both of them go to their chosen tasks, either to arrange the tea or to set out the sake, as if they are pretending to be politely invisible. 

The guests, on the other hand, are anything but invisible. The woman is younger than Kikuya and vaguely familiar. The man walking beside her and chattering about nothing important is more than vaguely familiar. Takahashi Daisuke is hardly older than Haruto, but not the sort of person who allows himself to be overlooked. 

There's a few minutes of confusion, as the newcomers greet their host, and Sakon wonders whether he can discreetly move back to his corner. Unfortunately, Takahashi sees him before he can find any polite excuse, and says, "Matsumoto-san, will you introduce me?" 

"Introduce you?" Ukon protests, hands fisted. "Since when are you a stranger?" 

"It's been months," Takahashi says gravely, laughter in his eyes. "Sakon-kun isn't the same person as Tachibana-san, the head of the Tachibana school." He bows to Sakon, and it's as if his eyes linger in ways Sakon doesn't know if he wants to understand. "The weight of the responsibility suits you, Tachibana-san." 

"Oi!" Ukon begins, but Matsumoto clears his throat, and Takahashi smiles and turns back to their host, leaving Sakon with what he suspects are flushed cheeks and no discreet way to hide them. Ukon is muttering, not as quietly as he should, about guys who just don't know how to behave in public. Haruto catches his eye, and discreetly gestures toward the other side of the charcoal pit, away from both his father and the geisha, who are quietly conferring separately. 

"I'm sorry about Takahashi-san," Haruto says. "He's not usually that blatant." 

"Blatant?" Sakon says quietly. 

Haruto only shrugs, and says, "I'm glad you were able to come." 

"Of course." 

"I mean, Takahashi-san is right. It must be a lot of responsibility." 

"Haruto-san?" Sakon says, and Ukon bursts out, "What are you getting at? We wouldn't be here if we didn't want to be here!" 

"No, no!" Haruto says quickly, waving his hands as if to negate what he was just saying. "It's just...I've been training for most of my life to take on that responsibility for my father's company. It's difficult to take it on early, I know. But it's difficult as well to have to take it on late." 

He's right. It was one of the knots in his late uncle's rope: that he'd waited to be his father's heir all his life, and had never had the chance. But all Sakon can say, here and now, is an inadequate murmur of, "Haruto-san..." 

Haruto shrugs, and finds a smile, just in time for the younger geisha to come over and join them. "You're hardly playing fair, Haruto-san," she says, with a flirt of her fan at Haruto. "Who is this, that you so quickly stole away?" 

"Old friends," Haruto says politely. He glances over at his father and Takahashi, as if afraid they will overhear, but they still talk quietly together, so Haruto continues: "Ichimitsu-san, this is Tachibana-san and Ukon. Sakon-san, Ukon, this is Ichimitsu-san." 

Sakon murmurs the usual politeness, and Ukon says cheerfully, "Hi!" 

Ichimitsu laughs behind her fan. "The honor is mine," she says, and lowers the fan to reveal a tiny smile. "It's not often that one can find such beauty." 

Ukon laughs too, and rubs the back of his head. "Thank you!" 

"Of course," Ichimitsu murmurs. "But perhaps I meant the manipulator, not only the puppet." 

"Hey! That's what he has me for!" 

"He does?" Ichimitsu looks to Haruto, then inexplicably, over to Takahashi, as if she thought he was listening to this as well. But he's still talking with Matsumoto. 

"He does," Haruto says, with a wry grin. "Sakon-san doesn't need to talk when he has Ukon around." 

"You could be more polite about it," Ukon grumbles. 

"You usually aren't," Haruto points out dryly. 

"Hmph," Ukon says, and crosses his arms, almost sulking. "Well, if you can't appreciate a puppet of my quality, then --" 

"Are you the only way to your master?" Ichimitsu asks, She's not looking at Takahashi at all now: her eyes are fixed on Sakon, as if she'd like to examine him the way Matsumoto examined Ukon earlier. 

Even Ukon doesn't have anything to say to that, and Sakon is miserably aware that he's flushed again. He's opened his mouth to try to say _something_ , anything, when the guest door mercifully opens again, and a man Sakon doesn't recognize says, "Am I late?" 

"No," Haruto says, rising to his feet. He glances down at Sakon, then draws out a pocket-watch and looks at it, before clicking it shut. "No, you're precisely on time." 

"Asaoka-san, you are welcome," Matsumoto says, also rising to his feet.

"Very welcome," Takahashi says, smiling. "I'm sure our honored host would like to speak with you, so I shall take a delay in our discussion for the moment."

"For the moment," Matsumoto says dryly, but he doesn't block Takahashi as the latter escapes to Sakon's side. The newcomer -- Asaoka-san -- watches him go, blinking as if his eyes haven't adjusted yet to the relative dimness of the tea house, but turns back to Matsumoto when called.

"A delay, Takahashi-san?" Ichimitsu says archly.

Takahashi shrugs, and waves one hand. "Matsumoto-san's business is not my business, and Yukito-san will talk only of Matsumoto-san's business. Quite reasonable if he wants to buy a part of it, but I would understand scarcely half."

Ah, Sakon thinks. He has not met Asaoka Yukito, but he has heard the name from his grandfather. In the meantime, if Matsumoto is discussing his business, especially selling a part of it -- "Haruto-san, do you need to join them?"

Haruto is still on his feet, looking down at their group. Takahashi smiles up at him and leans closer to Sakon. "Of course, you should go hear about furniture and business while we discuss puppets with Tachibana-san."

"Takahashi-san!" Sakon wasn't sure whether he said it or Ukon. He likes Takahashi's company, but this --

Haruto sinks to his knees again, eyes narrowed on Takahashi. "I think I'd better stay."

"I'm pleased for your company," Ichimitsu says. Her eyes have also narrowed on Takahashi, as if to warn him to behave.

Takahashi merely shrugs, waving it off with one hand. "Maa, maa, I meant no offense."

"You never mean offense, Takahashi-san," Haruto mutters, just loud enough that Sakon can hear.

"What difference does it make?" Ukon wants to know. "It's not like you can do just anything and then say you didn't mean it so it doesn't count!"

There's half a moment of awkward silence: Haruto looks like he's trying not to smile, Takahashi blinks down at Ukon with an expression Sakon doesn't understand, and Ichimitsu has half-hidden behind her fan, but it looks like _she's_ blushing. Then she clears her throat and smiles at Sakon, professional mask back in place. "Now that everyone is here, Matsumoto-san said you will be performing for us, Tachibana-san!"

"Yes," Sakon says, before Ukon can.

"Yes, he will," Matsumoto says, breaking into the murmur of appreciation. "Kikuya, is all ready?"

"Of course," Kikuya murmurs, and extends a hand to Sakon, who takes it with a murmur of thanks.

Everyone shuffles into position, finding cushions and choosing their seat. Sakon steals the time to breathe deeply, centering himself as he was taught. Usually it's fairly easy: he's already been working with Ukon, after all, and the nervousness transforms into a sort of energy that flows through movements and the puppet together. But it's hard to concentrate today. Not because of his own nerves; he's worked through worse. Rather, there's a stifling tension in the air, vibrations between people that Sakon doesn't yet know enough to read. He could cheat and look deeper, use his puppeteer's insight, but to what purpose? Simple curiosity? Ukon can look around curiously like a child, but Sakon knows better. He is a professional, and no matter how odd things may feel, he will perform as befits the heir of the Tachibana school.

Matsumoto-san asked for one of the stories of the Bamboo Princess, who sent her five suitors off on impossible quests. The usual choice is that of the Fire Robe, the suitor who came closest to winning the princess, but Matsumoto's request had been for the Dragon's Jewel. If he means to send a message, Sakon wishes he had chosen another method. The stillness within is a precarious state, and watching the audience out of the corner of his eye does not help: Takahashi looks half-asleep, Ichimitsu's hands are tight on her knees, Asaoka is chewing on his lip. 

_You must learn more than just puppetry,_ his grandfather told him. This is what it is to be the heir. This is what it is to have obligations, and try to learn what other people's obligations are, so you can balance them. This (says the story that Sakon and Ukon and the droning singer tell) is what happens when you don't.

Whatever the story might be meant to say, there's still polite applause when Sakon finishes. "Thank you very much," Asaoka says, turning to look at Matsumoto. "I've never had the chance to see this sort of thing before."

"My father respects and honors the old traditions," Haruto says. 

Perhaps it's only Sakon's imagination that the words have barbs to them, but he suspects not. With a stifled sigh, Sakon sinks to his knees as well, as Ichimitsu says demurely, "Such men are all too rare these days."

"Perhaps there's a reason for that," Takahashi says.

Haruto glares, but it's Kikuya who says sternly, "Takahashi-san!"

"These are difficult times," Asaoka says quickly. "So many people now prefer the modern, instead of thinking about their heritage."

Ichimitsu flirts open her fan. "And do you agree with them, Sato-san?"

"I can't think of any reason he should," Takahashi says.

If that's meant as an appeasement, Asaoka ignores it. "There _are_ advantages to modernity. Plastic, for example, lasts longer than wood. I'm sure Tachibana-san has had to mend his puppet many times. If it were plastic --"

"Plastic doesn't feel the same," Sakon says firmly. "Ukon wouldn't -- any puppet would be much harder to bring to life if they were plastic instead of wood."

Asaoka stares at him with a puzzled frown. "But with your skill as a puppeteer --"

It's an old argument, Sakon reminds himself. He's heard it before. But he still catches himself gritting his teeth on the urge to answer back, the worse because he isn't sure whether it's his own voice or Ukon's swelling his throat. Before his control can fail, Matsumoto says calmly, "Empty skill can only accomplish half of what we saw tonight. The rest is a matter of trust between the puppeteer and his puppet, or so Tachibana-san's grandfather has said in my presence. And you yourself should know that plastic can never feel as alive beneath the hands as wood."

Asaoka bows his head, conceding the argument. Kikuya clears her throat and says, "Speaking of tradition, I believe our dinner tonight is traditional foods as well."

At last everyone rises to their feet and moves, with some surreptitious shaking of legs to get the blood moving again after too long sitting in the wrong position. Sakon goes back to his corner, and hesitates there, looking down into Ukon's box. He can't -- it isn't like it used to be. He should -- he must --

"Sakon? What're you doing?"

"I don't know," Sakon whispers, and takes his hand out, so Ukon slumps in his arms as if lifeless. He bites his lip for a moment, then slides the box lid into place, and sets Ukon on top, propped up so he could see. He's here as Tachibana Sakon. He cannot bring Ukon to supper like a companion: the other guests would see it as a weakness, or worse, as a mockery. But this smaller indulgence may pass unnoticed, except by him and Ukon. This he can allow.

No one is watching him: they're all settling in front of their trays of dinner, talking about this and that, light stuff of no particular importance. The guests have been placed close together, although not unreasonably so: close enough that Asaoka, gesturing as he describes the carving of a particular table to an attentive Haruto, spreads his arms wide and nearly hits Takahashi. Takahashi laughs at him. Haruto quickly changes the subject to something less exciting. Sakon listens, not saying anything himself. This is the hard part, he tells himself. And even so, it could be worse.

Matsumoto is equally quiet, watching Kikuya and Ichimitsu as they pour the sake. Takahashi drinks his immediately. Ichimitsu, waiting beside him as if expecting this, refills his cup. Their hands brush as she sets it down again, and she looks up at Takahashi through her lashes. 

"Matsumoto-san, this is excellent sake!" Takahashi isn't looking back at her. His smile has faded into something more intense, and his attention is all on Matsumoto, who accepts his compliment with only a polite nod. Sakon lets his own attention slide back to Ichimitsu, and catches her expression slip from flirtatious to something rueful and resigned as she rises to her feet again, gliding over to take her place next to Kikuya.

Conversation sputters over dinner, with awkward pauses despite the best efforts of Kikuya and Ichimitsu both. Asaoka and Haruto both like art, but not the same kind. Nobody likes manga, or at least no one is willing to admit they read the same manga as Takahashi. And while Sakon could talk about puppets for hours, he's not foolish enough to think other people really want to listen. Besides, Ichimitsu smiles at him when he talks, and he really isn't sure what he's supposed to say when she does that.

After another silence, Takahashi breaks it to praise the sake again, and turns to Sakon to get his support. Sakon hesitates: he wouldn't know good sake from bad. As if misunderstanding, Takahashi holds out his cup to Sakon: "Here, try it this way!"

"It's not the _cup_ , Takahashi-san." He can almost hear Ukon grumbling: _Why are you asking him about sake, anyway? Sakon just doesn't drink. Toldja, he needs me to have any fun._

"The cups are all identical," Kikuya says.

"Almost," Takahashi says. His eyes are bright, and he looks as serious as Sakon has seen him all night. He raises his cup again, balancing it carefully on the tips of his fingers. "These are hand-made and hand-painted -- I know Matsumoto-san's taste, and he would settle for nothing less. No two of them are exactly the same." He turns to Asaoka next to him, and offers him his cup. "You aren't drinking either, Yukito-san."

The cup is tipping dangerously. Asaoka hesitates, and finally takes it just before it falls into his lap. He fumbles it, spilling sake over his hands. He's flushed as he leans over and sets the cup back on Takahashi's tray. "I prefer my own. I have no more desire for an indirect kiss than Tachibana-san does."

Sakon has spent too much time with his cheeks flushed this evening, in his opinion. Ukon would be laughing: _An indirect kiss? Him?_ Matsumoto-san mercifully says nothing, and Ichimitsu says, "I'm sure he had no such idea. Would you like more sake, Sato-san, or would you prefer tea?"

"Oi," Takahashi says mildly.

"I think she already knows your preferences," Haruto mutters.

There's another awkward pause, while Ichimitsu refills Takahashi's sake, and Asaoka drinks his tea. Finally Haruto clears his throat and asks Kikuya whether she's read a particular news article, something about penguins. Sakon, who knows nothing about penguins, listens politely as he eats his rice and fish. There will be more conversation after this, and a performance by the geisha. Matsumoto-san will ask more questions. And then --

The clatter of something falling interrupts the conversation. Takahashi has dropped his chopsticks. At first Sakon thinks he's showing off somehow, a comment about the food to go with the drink, but when he meets Takahashi's eyes, they are wide and terrified, as Takahashi raises one hand to his lips, pressing against them hard. His breath rasps loud in the sudden silence. He tries to take a deep breath, fails, and mouths something.

"What's wrong?" Ichimitsu asks, voice wavering.

"Kikuya," Matsumoto says sharply. The older geisha is already halfway to the door to fetch Ochaya-san.

"He ate something bad," Haruto says uncertainly.

"The fish is fresh," his father says. "And not fugu in any case."

Takahashi has managed to push himself back from the table. Sakon can only watch: the symptoms are indeed fugu poisoning, but if Takahashi falls into convulsions, he would be no help sitting over here. Asaoka, who appears to have had the same thought, rises on his knees, watching Takahashi carefully.

Ochaya-san hurries in, followed by Kikuya and two other women. "One moment," Ochaya-san says to Matsumoto. "I will take this man next door so he may rest comfortably. In the meantime, the ambulance shall be called."

"And the police," Sakon says.

"Police?" Haruto protests, and Asaoka says, "I thought it was an accident!"

 _You're just being jumpy,_ Ukon would say. _Not everyone dies because they were murdered, not even around you._

"Matsumoto-san says we weren't served fugu," Sakon says, to Haruto and Yukito and to Ukon too, sitting beyond them on his box. "But the symptoms are clear. And fugu poison doesn't take more than thirty minutes to take effect, so he must have had it here."

Ochaya-san nods to Sakon. "I'll check his sleeves." And with a sharp gesture, she summons the women to come forward and pick up Takahashi. They hold him carefully as they carry him out of the teahouse. He isn't dead yet, after all.

No one speaks until the door slides closed behind them. Then Asaoka turns back and says intensely, "Then if it's not an accident -- I didn't think his debts were so bad."

"Bad enough," Haruto says. "Even I had heard."

Ichimitsu hesitantly sits down. "But not enough for suicide. He was hopeful."

"And I hadn't given him an answer yet," Matsumoto says.

"Father! You were going to --"

"The answer would have been 'no,' Haruto. But I hadn't yet told him so."

"And he would have thought he could change your mind," Ichimitsu murmurs.

"But how else would he have been poisoned?" Asaoka demands.

"By someone else," Sakon says quietly. "We'll know in a few minutes. Ochaya-san is checking to see if he has a vial that could have held poison."

"Ah," Matsumoto says. "I'd wondered what she meant."

Both Haruto and Asaoka look uneasy. "But if it wasn't suicide --"

"Then it was murder," Matsumoto says, before Sakon has to. "And all of us are suspects."

"What?" Haruto looks from his father to Sakon and back again. "Father --"

"Your father was here early enough to have tampered with the tea, or the cups," Sakon said. His fingers twitched. He wanted Ukon: he wanted someone who would make wise-cracks about obvious suspects, and jump to conclusions so he could pick them apart. He wanted another set of eyes he could trust, without having to wait for his aunt, who too often missed things anyway. "You arrived later, but we have no proof you didn't come here before then, and double back. Ichimitsu-san and Kikuya-san poured the sake and the tea. And both Asaoka-san and I handled his sake cup."

"But that's ridiculous," Asaoka bursts out. "Why would any of us want to kill him?"

"We might have reasons," Ichimitsu says, and everyone jumps because she's been quiet so long. She's looking down at her lap, smoothing the fabric over her legs. "Besides, Takahashi-san -- Daisuke-san was not a careful man."

"What are you implying?" Matsumoto says.

She looks up. Sakon recognizes the glitter of held-back tears in her eyes, but her voice remains even. "Daisuke-san owed many people money. I don't know all of them. I don't think even he knew all of them. And you were not the only man he asked for money, Matsumoto-san. Neither of these would have ruined him, but he had a way with him..." She trails off and shrugs elegantly. "He likes what he likes. Liked. And most liked him back."

"Was he your lover?" Haruto asks.

"Not any more."

 _That's it._ Sakon jumps: he can hear Ukon's voice clearly, but Ukon still sits lifeless over on his box, and nobody else seems to have heard anything. _She's practically confessed,_ the voice continues impatiently. _She's a geisha: they aren't supposed to take lovers on the side. And then he goes and dumps her, and flirts with everyone in front of her! It's gotta be her!_

"Did you kill him?" Matsumoto says, as if echoing the voice he can't hear.

"No. Things happen." She shrugs and meets Sakon's eyes. It's not flirtation this time: it's the same rueful resignation he saw earlier in the evening. "I knew what he was. That's not reason enough to kill someone."

"I believe you," Sakon tells her, or Ukon, or perhaps both. "You and Kikuya-san would be the first suspects if the police are called in. Even if they don't find the poison on you, they might still suspect you."

"So why do you believe her?" Haruto ventures.

"Because she knows that," Sakon says simply. "And the wound would have to be still raw for her to kill him without caring if she was caught."

"It could be!" Asaoka says. "If it's not suicide, then -- she's a trained actress. She could be lying!"

 _Exactly!_ Ukon-that-isn't-there pipes in. Sakon clasps his twitching hand with his other to hide it. _Not now,_ he thinks fiercely.

Ichimitsu has drawn herself up, like the grand lady that she is by right of training if not lineage. "I'm not the only suspect at this table, Asaoka-san," she says icily. "Nor am I the only one with ill-kept secrets."

Haruto clears his throat. "Er, maybe we should wait for the police --"

"No," his father says.

"Father?"

"It's the nature of murder investigations, Haruto-san," Sakon says, after a polite pause to let Matsumoto answer if he wished. " _Everyone_ has secrets. Unless the murderer confesses immediately, the police will look for all possible secrets, so they can determine which led to the death."

 _Except us,_ Ukon adds cheerfully. _You don't have any secrets, or I'd know them._

Sakon grits his teeth. Whatever this is, hallucination or the ghost he's sometimes fancied Ukon to be possessed by, it's distracting him.

"I don't know what she's talking about," Asaoka grumbles, slouching in his seat. "I don't have any secrets."

Haruto clears his throat, looking somewhere off between Asaoka and his father. "If it's about Takahashi-san flirting, Ichimitsu-san, that's, er, not a secret." Asaoka makes a soft, quickly suppressed sound, which Haruto pretends not to have heard. "You were right, earlier. He does it with everyone -- did it with everyone. He was doing it with Sakon-san today. He's done it with me. Sometimes --"

"Sometimes?" Ichimitsu asks, with something like her former archness.

"He offered more. I think." Haruto rubs the back of his head. "I didn't answer."

"Then you should not mind an alternate suggestion," Matsumoto says. His eyes are on Sakon, a cool, assessing look. "Tachibana-san should be able to find the answer for us."

From all three of the others: "What?"

Sakon winces. He's done this often enough, asking the questions nobody wanted to answer, but that was before. He isn't here as Sakon, who can carry around his puppet and ask what he likes. He's here as Tachibana-san, heir to the school, who isn't supposed to be too closely involved with murder, and who certainly isn't supposed to stick his nose in where it isn't wanted.

"Father, if Sakon-san had seen something, he would have mentioned it by now!" Haruto says. "The police will be able to find who did it easily. No one left the room except Kikuya-san --"

"No," Matsumoto repeats. He hasn't looked away from Sakon.

"Are you suggesting that he'll be able to -- to puzzle it out, like some sort of detective?" Asaoka asks. "With all due respect, he's an excellent puppeteer, but --"

"The art of ventriloquism is the art of mind-reading," Matsumoto says softly. "A master puppeteer can summon the very voice and thoughts of the dead."

"Like a medium?" Ichimitsu says. She sounds more curious than indignant. "But we don't even know if Takahashi-san is dead. He might survive. If it's truly fugu poison --"

"He felt it too quickly for that," Matsumoto tells her.

If he's the guilty one, he's covering it very well, Sakon thinks. But this will give him a way, an answer to the questions that keep wanting to surge up. When Matsumoto turns back to him and says, "Please, Sakon-san," he bows his head in agreement, and goes to retrieve Ukon.

"Are you sure about this?" Ukon mutters. "We don't have to get involved."

"We already are," Sakon says under his breath, and returns, not to his own seat, but to Takahashi's.

He closes his eyes. This is not a simple trick, and he avoids it as much as possible. _One who manipulates puppets manipulates humans,_ he repeats to himself, hearing the words in his grandfather's measured voice. _The art of ventriloquism is the art of mind-reading._ When had Matsumoto-san heard that? No, Sakon, concentrate. _It is not just the tone you imitate, but the very inner voice._ He breaths deeply, and feels Ukon shudder in his hands. Sakon opens his eyes again. "Ukon, become Takahashi Daisuke. Use his natural voice to re-create his thoughts."

Ukon's eyes open, and he laughs. Not his usual giggle, but the lower, infectious laugh that Sakon heard so often earlier this evening. "You're so impatient, Matsumoto-san. You'd have your answer as soon as the police got here -- I don't think the vial even got thrown away after I was poisoned."

"You don't know?" Matsumoto asks, ignoring the gibe.

Ukon shrugs carelessly. "Not for certain. I didn't _see_ when my sake was poisoned, or I wouldn't have drunk it." His half-mocking smile fades into something softer, almost sad. "But I can guess."

"A guess," Haruto mutters. "That won't solve --"

Ukon leans forward. "Yukito, _why_?"

Silence. Even Matsumoto doesn't speak. Asaoka hardy seems to be breathing. Ukon searches his face, then shakes his head helplessly. "You were the one who broke it off. I'm not heartless. I never told anyone, just the way you asked."

"I --" Asaoka swallows, then finds his voice. "But you would have! You said -- you told me --"

"That wasn't a _threat_ ," Daisuke says, waving away whatever he'd said with one hand. "Just asking for money, like everyone else. I didn't -- " He hesitates, then sighs. "I'm sorry, Yukito," he whispers, and Ukon sags in Sakon's arms again.

Asaoka half-rises, reaching out. "Daisuke!"

"Asaoka-san," Matsumoto says. "Enough."

Asaoka slowly resumes his pillow, staring at Ukon as if he expects him to speak with Takahashi's voice again. Haruto clears his throat. "I'm sorry, father. And to you, Ichimitsu-san, for --"

"It's all right," Ichimitsu says. "At least there was an answer."

Asaoka flushes dark, and turns on them. "An answer? With what proof? We don't even know that Takahashi-san is dead, and you're condemning me on the word of -- of a wooden doll?" He looks back at Sakon, who looks back steadily. "He saw nothing! There _was_ nothing!"

"Nothing but the vial in your sleeve," Sakon says.

 _I don't think the vial even got thrown away,_ Ukon had reported. Apparently he was right: Asaoka starts to reach to check for it, and doesn't quite catch himself in time. 

"Not just a wooden doll," Matsumoto says. "I think there will be proof enough of whatever charge the police must bring."

Asaoka looks from Sakon to Matsumoto, then down to Ukon, and finally laughs, short and hollow. "Enough. Yes. I'd hoped --" He cuts off and shakes his head, before attempting a smile. "Congratulations, puppetmaster."

Was that meant for him or Matsumoto? Their host has manipulated things far more than Sakon has. But there comes a knock at the door at last: Ochaya-san, followed by a policeman Sakon doesn't recognize, and his aunt Kaoruko.

Kaoruko grimaces at Sakon. "Whatever you've gotten yourself into -- er." She sees Matsumoto, and stops short. "I. Please pardon this intrusion. Takahashi Daisuke is dead: the doctor suspects fugu poisoning. I'm sorry, but I will need to question all of you."

"No need," Asaoka says, raising his head. "I would like to confess to his murder."

"Er," Kaoruko says again, and shoots Sakon a wild, confused look. "Of course. Just one minute."

It's later, although not much later, when she's able to grab Sakon and ask what happened. Ukon grins up at her, and says, "What do you think?" and gets a whomp on the head for his pains. Sakon says nothing. Matsumoto-san has wished him well, and asked to speak with him again at a later date.

His aunt gives him a ride home. Sakon sits and watches the narrow streets slide by.

"At least it wasn't a locked room this time," Ukon says from inside the box.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," Sakon murmurs, and isn't sure if he's being ironic or not.

-end-

 


End file.
